The joys of having a son is beyond words for me. From the day he was born, we have always had a special bond. He is exhuberant and curious, he is animated and thoughtful...always a joy to my heart. It has been an interesting transition as he is emerging out of boyhood and dabbling his toes in his own manhood. I have felt it on a very deep level, some with excitement at what lies before him...what he will become; and some with a little apprehension. I know that our relationship must change....in fact, will change...and am learning to flow with the dance as the steps change from all I have known and all I have become accustomed to. As he nears ten years old, there is a unique metamorphosis happening...a growing out of all that he has been, and all that we have been together. I marvel at the change, I welcome it, even through a little sadness. I have a few good friends who have been blessed with only girls, and who have commented from time to time as to how thankful they are that they only have girls...because boys are just so...uhum...different. As they have said that over the years, I have felt a certain sadness for them, because they are truly missing one of the most beautiful joys of God's creation. I adore my girls, I understand them, and I am thrilled by all of their own uniqueness and beauty...but there is something especially wonderful about boys. To watch their innate curiosity as they tinker with gadgets, or run, jump and play with boundless energy, watch their relational interraction with each other, as they practice being hunters, protectors and heroes. Imagining themselves with superhero strengths, they spar and wrestle...practicing their manliness. And then just as my son has played hard and rough...he can crave "special time" just with me, settling in for a snuggle under a warm blanket, and a good book. Freely sharing his thoughts, ideas, dreams he is beautifully verbal, and a delight to listen to as he tells endless stories, and exciting tales. I laugh as he gets carried away in his own imagination, his tempo rising, and his eyes becoming shining and animated! I can't help but get swept up into his world. I am blessed by this little man...sometimes wishing that he would never grow up, never move away...just stay mine...tender and young. And yet the days pass, and the weeks grow into years, and as I watch his height grow dangerously close to passing my own...it is inevitable. He's emerging, changing, growing into what he was created to be...a man.
Not always is this journey so simple though as sitting back and watching him emerge. It is not always accompanied by smiles and laughter...sometimes in the process of the cocoon...there is pain, frustration and tears. Growing pains of the soul...a struggle to become more. Sometimes it is loud and hurtful as hearts try to find their expression in clumsy ten year old words. Practicing manhood is messy business. Often there is a mess of shattered feelings, and broken hearts in the wake of this "practicing". Even the simple pulling away requires a certain tearing as well, and although it is so necessary, it is incredibly awkward. Hugs that used to seem so spontaneous and real in younger years, are replaced by thicker awkward movements as if the memory of how to hug, has been lost somehow..... The old passing away....my heart struggles against it. And so we dance, this tender...precious...young man and I. Two steps forward, one step back. He steps on my toes, and I step on his.
Yet somewhere in the background is the melody of life. If I can gaze into the eyes of this amazing soul, and glimpse a man...and shift my focus from my aching, bruised toes...we can dance. Bruised toes are an inevitable part of this dance....this journey out of boyhood and into glorious manhood. But I gently remind myself that they don't have to be the focus...or the legacy. My desire, my need really....is for us to find joy in the dance, repent over aching toes, and continue to flow to the melody that enraptures this walk. It is only a matter of time, before these last remnants of boyishness have disappeared. The realization that I am preparing him...readying him for the heart of another woman. I weep, and cling desperately to these last years. Breathing in his laughter, his affection...for just as the sun sets on this day...and with it all the activity that it held....we are left only with the memory. Soon...this season will be but a remembrance, and I am trusting that the joy will far outweigh the struggle.
"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:
A time to to be born and a time to die
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance, (italics...mine)
a time to scatter stones and time to gather them
a time to embrace and time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and time for peace....
He has made everything beautiful in its time."
Ecclesiastes 3:1-11
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